


a wild abandoned side of me (for your eyes only)

by givebackmylifecas



Category: La casa de papel | Money Heist (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Domestic Fluff, Drag, Established Relationship, Everybody Lives, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:54:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27444463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/givebackmylifecas/pseuds/givebackmylifecas
Summary: “Satine?” Andrés asks, clearing his throat.Martín grins, teeth flashing a stark white against the dark red lipstick. “Of course.”“Oh, Moulin Rouge,” Raquel says loudly and Andrés had honestly forgotten she was there.“Yep,” Martín says. “Andrés’ favourite musical.”Raquel throws a Hollywood-themed birthday party. Martín's costume is... interesting to say the least.
Relationships: Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa/Palermo | Martín Berrote
Comments: 12
Kudos: 55





	a wild abandoned side of me (for your eyes only)

**Author's Note:**

> i have no excuses or explanations
> 
> TWs: swearing, canon-typical misogynistic behaviour and insults, smut (it's so bad i'm so sorry)
> 
> fic title from the sheena easton song 'for your eyes only'

“Denver this is a Hollywood themed party, you can’t just wear jeans and a t-shirt,” Nairobi announces.

“Or a suit,” Tokyo adds with a pointed look at Andrés who is lounging in a beach chair next to Martín.

Berlin scowls. “So if I wanted to be Gene Kelly in ‘Singing in the Rain’, that wouldn’t fit the theme?”

“Well, I suppose it would,” Stockholm says uncertainly. “Lisbon, it’s your birthday, what do you think?”

Raquel looks up from her book. “It’s fine, I just want everyone to put in a little effort.”

“Yes, Andrés put in some effort for once,” Martín teases and Andrés glares at him.

Tokyo snorts. “Palermo you’re literally just wearing a robe – and I hope some underwear – if anyone needs to make an effort, it’s you.”

Martín lazily flips her off and purposely spreads his legs, making Andrés tut and pinch his thigh. “Don’t you have a toilet to be scrubbing? Cradles to rob? Dicks to su-“

“Okay that’s enough,” Raquel says. “Everyone behave for once and please, try to stick to the theme tonight – that goes for you too, Palermo.”

“Oh don’t worry, hermanita,” Martín says. “I bought my costume last week.”

Andrés frowns at him. “What did you buy?”

“You’ll see it later, with everyone else.”

-

Andrés has to admit, the girls did a good job with the decorations for tonight. They’ve transformed the paved area near the beach into a passable party area, with a bar, fake Oscar statuettes, and large spotlights. Music is already playing from large speakers and Sergio, dressed all in beige, with a fedora on his head and a whip in hand, is stood by the bar.

“Indiana Jones?” he asks when he gets close enough and Sergio nods.

“Raquel said it was funny because we’re both professors.”

“And I was right!” Raquel announces, walking over to them in a sparkly, floor-length red dress.

Her auburn hair is in sleek waves and she’s wearing purple gloves that go up to her elbows.

“Jessica Rabbit,” she says in answer to Andrés confused – and admittedly lingering – stare.

He nods. “Right, of course. You look ravishing, hermanita.”

She smirks at him. “Thank you. Where’s your other half?”

Andrés shrugs. “Locked himself in the bathroom two hours ago and told me to piss in the kitchen sink if I needed the toilet.”

“Charming,” Raquel says, wrinkling her nose.

“You wanted him to make an effort,” Andrés says nonchalantly.

Raquel sighs. “I suppose I did.”

There’s a ruckus behind them and they turn to watch most of the rest of the gang arrive. Stockholm and Denver have clearly gone for a couple’s costume – Danny and Sandy from ‘Grease’ – Nairobi has braided her hair and is wearing a pretty close replica of Judy Garland’s dress from ‘The Wizard of Oz’. Andrés smirks when he sees Bogota and Marseille behind her, dressed as the scarecrow and the cowardly lion respectively. Rio is dressed in brown robes and Andrés rolls his eyes at the lightsabre he’s poking Denver with. Helsinki and Manila are both in flight suits, with aviator sunglasses over their eyes and Andrés gives them both a friendly nod.

“What are you supposed to be, Berlin?” Tokyo demands, strutting over to the bar in knee high boots and a blue and white scrap of a dress.

Andrés looks down at his double-breasted suit and readjusts his cufflinks. “Rhett Butler of course.” When Tokyo stares blankly, he sighs. “From ‘Gone with the Wind’.”

She rolls her eyes, reaching past him to take the drink Rio hands her.

“And what exactly are you supposed to be?” Andrés asks, lip curling.

“She’s the hooker from ‘Pretty Woman’,” Martín’s voice announces and when Andrés turns to see his partner striding over to him, his jaw nearly drops.

Martín is wearing heels higher than Tokyo’s, black and sparkly. Andrés’ gaze travels over Martín’s legs which are encased in black fishnet tights, up to the sparkling, beaded silver bodice with a black collar. It cinches in tightly around his waist, transitioning down into tassels that strategically cover his crotch and far too little of his ass. His face is perfectly done up, lips coloured a deep red, eyes ringed with smoky eyeshadow and framed by lashes that Andrés is sure aren’t real – Martín never had lashes that long did he? He’s topped off the outfit with small top-hat that’s perched precariously on his ginger wig.

“Satine?” Andrés asks, clearing his throat.

Martín grins, teeth flashing a stark white against the dark red lipstick. “Of course.”

“Oh, Moulin Rouge,” Raquel says loudly and Andrés had honestly forgotten she was there.

“Yep,” Martín says. “Andrés’ favourite musical.”

Andrés continues to stare at him and Martín’s grin widens as he catches his eye and adjusts his elbow-high black gloves.

“Ew, so you’re in drag because Berlin likes Nicole Kidman?” Tokyo asks, her loud voice breaking through Andrés’ Martín induced haze.

Martín turns his head to look down at her, a sneer curling his mouth. “No. I’m in drag because I want to. Don’t be bitchy because I look better in fishnets than you do.”

Tokyo scoffs. “You don’t and I’m not.”

“Oh sorry, are you being bitchy because you’re on your period?” Martín asks and immediately Nairobi and Tokyo start yelling at him.

Sergio sighs and Raquel throws Andrés a look as if begging him to intervene. Andrés just shrugs and pours himself a rather large whiskey as Martín starts hurling insults that seem to have something to do with peaches at Tokyo, who is calling him a pig.

Martín pauses to take a breath and Andrés smoothly slides between him and Tokyo before either of them can speak again.

“Mi amor, would you like a drink?” he asks, handing Martín a rum and coke that’s definitely more the former than the latter.

Martín accepts it with a smile and Andrés takes the opportunity to wrap an arm around his waist and lead him away from Tokyo and Nairobi who are now discussing why men are generally the worst.

“You just had to stir them up?” Bogota grumbles when they join him and Helsinki at one of the tables, where the two of them are smoking pungent cigars.

Martín shrugs, sliding onto the seat next to Andrés. “Not my fault, Tokyo is overemotional.”

“Whereas you’re always cool and collected?” Andrés teases, curling one hand around the back of Martín’s neck, underneath the ginger curls of his wig.

Martín smirks and slides a hand up Andrés’ thigh. “I can be very cool tonight, if you’re not fond of my passionate side, cariño.”

“That won’t be necessary, I’m fond of all your moods,” Andrés answers, just a shade too quickly and Martín smirks.

“I’m glad to hear it, I waxed my legs for this,” he says casually and Andrés absolutely doesn’t choke on his drink.

Bogota sighs and shares a commiserating glance with Helsinki. “Can’t you two get a room?”

Martín’s hand inches higher up Andrés’ thigh. “I assure you we will, but first, this is a party and I intend to enjoy myself.” He downs his drink and gets to his feet, tugging Andrés up with him. “Let’s dance.”

Andrés sighs, but lets Martín drag him onto the dancefloor where Denver and Stockholm are making out and Sergio is awkwardly dancing with Raquel. Andrés pulls Martín into his arms, but lets him take the lead as they move across the flagstones.

“How long have you planned this?” Andrés asks, the hand that isn’t in Martín’s curling across his bare shoulder blade.

Martín shrugs and Andrés can feel the muscle moving between his skin. “Since Raquel announced the theme. Thought it would be a nice surprise.”

Andrés smirks. “It’s very much appreciated.”

“Oh, I can tell,” Martín says coquettishly, pressing himself against Andrés. “You can show your appreciation later, if you like.”

“I will,” Andrés promises and Martín laughs, joyous like Andrés worried he might never see again after he left him in the monastery.

-

“Oh my god, how he still drinking?” Rio slurs, burying his face in his arms.

Andrés laughs, watching Martín down another shot at the bar and then come tottering over to them. “Practice,” he says.

“Who’s practicing what?” Martín asks, forgoing a chair and flopping onto Andrés’ lap instead.

Andrés slings an arm around his waist and presses his face to Martín’s neck. “Absolutely nothing, mi amor.”

Martín looks over at Rio who is still face down on the table and has now started to snore. “It’s getting pretty late, want to get out of here?”

Andrés gets up so quickly he forgets Martín is still on his lap, but he thankfully manages to catch him before he hits the ground.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Martín grumbles, but he wraps an arm around Andrés’ waist anyway and plants a sloppy kiss on his cheek.

They wave at Helsinki who is sat in a corner with Marseille and Andrés pats Sergio on the shoulder when they pass him and Raquel, now alone on the dancefloor and completely wrapped up in each other.

It’s a short walk home, along the wooden path that leads between the trees and past Sergio and Raquel’s house, to the other side of the island. Their house is as far away from the others’ as they could build it, and Andrés has never been more glad for that.

The moment they’re through the front door, he has Martín up against a wall, their bodies one long line of heat where they’re pressed against each other.

Martín smirks and Andrés scowls. “Not a word.”

“Well that’s no fun,” Martín purrs. “I really enjoy talking, you know, especially when it gets you so –“

Andrés cuts off whatever he’s saying with a hard kiss, biting at Martín’s too red bottom lip, before licking his way into his mouth. Martín grasps at his back, one hand sliding up into Andrés’ hair and tugging hard, making Andrés groan. His legs fall open, allowing Andrés to move even closer, grinding against Martín’s hips.

“Andrés,” Martín gasps when they part for air. “As hot as this is, my feet are killing me so can we move this somewhere more horizontal.”

“Of course,” Andrés allows, moving away so he can drag Martín the short distance down the hall and into the bedroom.

He manhandles Martín down onto the bed, then moves back so he can undo the straps on his shoes. He carelessly throws the heels over his shoulder, ignoring Martín’s complaints about how much they cost. Andrés strokes Martín’s foot, now divested of its shoe, and runs a hand up his shin.

“You really waxed your legs?” he asks and Martín raises an eyebrow.

“Take off the tights and find out.”

Admittedly, Martín does most of the work, pulling the black bottoms off and then allowing Andrés roll the fishnets down his legs. Andrés rubs a hand over the wondrously smooth skin of Martín’s calf making him laugh.

“Enjoy it while you can, cariño, it hurt like a bitch, I’m not doing that again.”

“Laser hair removal?” Andrés suggests with a laugh.

Martín rolls his eyes. “I’m not actually a woman, you know.”

“Oh I’m very aware of that,” Andrés says, pressing a kiss to the inside of Martín’s knee.

The breathy sigh Martín releases when he kisses his inner thigh, makes Andrés grin and he nips at the skin with his teeth just to see Martín squirm.

“Andrés, mi amor, I say this with love, but I’m going to need you to hurry the fuck up,” Martín says when Andrés continues lavishing his thighs with attention, sucking bruises onto his golden skin.

Andrés sighs, brushing the tassels on the bodice out of the way to plant a kiss on Martín’s hip bone, before pulling away.

“Clothes off, now,” Martín orders and Andrés does as he’s told.

He ignores Martín's swearing when he takes the time to hang his suit up, but it was expensive and he refuses to wrinkle it. He turns back to Martín, still lying on the bed although he’s discarded his wig, hat and gloves, and hooks two thumbs into the waistband of his underwear. He lets them drop onto the floor and Martín smirks in a way that really shouldn’t be allowed as he shuffles further up the bed. Andrés follows, crawling between his legs and kissing him deeply.

He’s rather proud of the glazed look in Martín’s eyes when he pulls away. There’s lipstick smeared around his mouth and Andrés is sure there’s a fair amount on his own now, but Martín still looks unfairly attractive, pretty mouth pulled into a satisfied smile.

Martín reaches for something off to the side and his hand reappears with a tube of lube. “Are you going to fuck me, or were you waiting for Nicole Kidman herself to appear?”

“What do I need her for when I’ve got you?” Andrés asks and Martín puts a hand on his neck to drag him into a kiss.

“Good answer,” he mumbles against Andrés’ lips.

“True answer,” Andrés says, uncapping the lube and slicking his fingers.

“Hopeless romantic,” Martín says, trailing off into a wordless moan when Andrés presses one finger into him.

There’s little resistance and Andrés raises a questioning eyebrow. “Someone was prepared.”

“Someone knows how the other someone feels about Satine,” Martín says, somehow still able to sass Andrés with two fingers now sliding into him.

Andrés adds another finger and after a couple of thrusts, crooks them. Martín’s back arches and he moans, reaching up to paw at Andrés’ shoulder.

“Enough baby, I’m good, just fuck me.”

“You’re so fucking bossy, mi amor. You’re ready when I say so.”

Martín whines his name and Andrés is going to ban him from ever wearing make-up again, if it’s going to make his pouting even harder to resist. He sighs and pulls his fingers out as gently as he can before slicking himself up and pushing in.

He’s not drunk enough to compare being with Martín to a religious experience or some other clichéd nonsense, but he knows he’ll never tire of it. Not of the slick heat, or the way Martín gasps his name in between pleas for him to move faster, deeper. Not of the way Martín clutches at him, pulling him closer as If he wants Andrés to crawl inside him.

The beads of the bodice rub against his chest, scraping at his skin, but he can’t bring himself to care when Martín is writhing underneath him, legs hooked around Andrés’ waist.

“Fuck.”

Martín’s legs spasm and he goes lax underneath Andrés as he comes. Andrés finishes moments later, pulling out and grimacing at Martín’s wince before collapsing mostly on top of him. Martín kisses the top of his head, smoothing a hand over Andrés’ back as they both try to regain their breath.

“As much as I like this outfit, it’s uncomfortable as hell,” Andrés complains eventually, peeling himself off Martín.

“You’re telling me,” Martín grumbles, already sounding half asleep.

Andrés laughs and strokes some of Martín’s hair off his forehead. “Sit up and take it off so you can sleep then. Then I’ll find you some makeup wipes – I’m assuming you bought some.”

“I did,” Martín says around a yawn as Andrés unlaces his bodice for him. “But I’ll take it off tomorrow.”

He shimmies out of the bodice and throws it on the floor, immediately collapsing back into bed.

“Martín, por favour, think of my pillowcases,” Andrés says with a groan.

Martín scowls into his pillow. “Andrés, think about the fact that I’ll never let you fuck me again if you make me get up to wash my face.”

“You wouldn’t,” Andrés says with an eyeroll, but he leaves Martín on the bed, disappearing into the bathroom where he does find makeup wipes.

He cleans himself up, then grabs some wipes and a damp cloth for Martín, before returning to the bedroom. He wipes Martín down despite his grumbling and tosses the cloth into the hamper, before starting on his face. He peels off the false lashes, then scrubs as much of the makeup off Martín as he can.

“Are you done, will you come to bed now?” Martín mumbles when Andrés goes to throw the wipes in the bin.

“Coming, querido,” Andrés says, sliding under the sheets.

Martín immediately curls into him, throwing a leg over both of Andrés’ and pressing his face into Andrés’ neck. For his part, Andrés just wraps his arms around Martín and lets sleep drag them both under.

**Author's Note:**

> here we are. did you think this was bad? awkward? terribly ooc? i agree but i won't apologise bc it's your own fault for reading smut written by me, a known asexual
> 
> anyway i'd love a kudos/comment anyway or you can you can come scream at me on tumblr ([@hefellfordean](https://hefellfordean.tumblr.com)) or twitter ([@angstypalermo](https://twitter.com/angstypalermo)) if you like


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